


Tangible

by Frostfire



Category: High School Musical
Genre: F/M, Hand & Finger Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-31
Updated: 2010-08-31
Packaged: 2018-10-04 15:02:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10281692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frostfire/pseuds/Frostfire
Summary: Holding hands is chaste and innocent! Until it really, really isn't.





	

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY, WAIT. Before you judge: what better fandom could there be for the "hand fetish" Kink Bingo square than one where it takes the romantic leads *two whole movies* to get past holding hands? If you were trapped in a Disney teen movie, you would totally develop a hand fetish too.

The first time Troy Bolton takes her hand, they’re breathless and grinning, and the other kids are cheering so loud that Troy has to lean in to say his name.

“Gabriella,” she says, and they shake, but Troy doesn’t let go right away and neither does she, and now they’re holding each other’s hands, up here on the podium in front of everybody. His hand is bigger than hers, a little sweaty, and he’s holding on too tight. She clutches back, even tighter; she likes how his hand feels against hers.

 

 

The second time Troy takes her hand, she hardly realizes what’s happening; the warning bell has rung and they’re up on the _roof_ \--she has to go downstairs, find her locker, get all her stuff from her locker, she still has a hard time remembering where her English classroom is--so when Troy grabs her hand, she just runs with him.

Later, though, she nearly drops her _Much Ado About Nothing_ notes all over the place when she remembers. Troy grabbed her hand like it was nothing, like he was really her boyfriend and they held hands all the time.

Gabriella can’t help her smile, big and happy and overwhelming.

 

 

After that, he takes her hand a lot. When he’s pulling her along to see something, sometimes when they’re singing, when he’s saying something serious to her and he wants her to look at him. She shivers a little every time.

And maybe it’s silly, but she doesn’t care. Because, honestly, kissing and making out and (eventually, someday) _sex_ have always been _terrifying_ to her--what if she does something wrong? what if the boy has bad breath? how do you know when to breathe? or where to put your hands? how far is too far?--and whenever she’s thought about when (if) she got a boyfriend, she shied away from that part, in her head. Worried about it, sometimes. Hoped that if ( _when_ ) she _did_ get a boyfriend, he wouldn’t push it. Tried not to think about saliva and groping and heavy breathing and a boy trying to get under her shirt or into her pants.

Holding hands is pretty much the opposite of all that. When she and Johnny Goldstein were pretending to be boyfriend and girlfriend in kindergarten, they held hands. It’s safe, and it’s _easy_. No worrying, nothing to think about except how she really thinks she loves Troy, and maybe he even loves her back, and who would have thought that this would ever happen to her?

After the callbacks/basketball/decathlon is over, she goes with Troy to the afterparty. It’s at the Bolton’s house, and people are everywhere, spilling out of the house into the yard. Troy takes her hand--she shivers--and pulls her through the house into his room. He doesn’t let go even after they’re inside, just brings their hands up to his chest and says, “So--uh. So I know you’re a big star now, and the whole school knows how awesome you are instead of mostly just me, but.”

His fingers are shaky against hers, clutching at her hand and then letting go a little, then clamping back down again. She grips his hand tightly and says, “My memory of this afternoon is a little fuzzy,” (did they really sing in front of the _whole school?_ ) “but I think I wasn’t the only one up on that stage.”

“Just the most amazing one,” he says, with that quirk of a smile that she loves so much. “And because you’re so amazing, I’m willing to stand here making a total idiot of myself trying to ask you to be my girlfriend.”

“Oh,” she says, and it’s not like she wasn’t _expecting_ it, but. Happiness wells up inside her, overwhelming. She’s smiling so big it makes her cheeks hurt, and she tugs on their joined hands, brings them to her lips. The skin of his knuckles is warm and rough against her mouth.

 

 

Troy has big, warm hands, _boy_ hands, and she loves to twine her fingers through his, or to curl them up inside his grip.

“Aaah, my palms are all sweaty,” he says, trying to pull his hand away.

“I don’t mind!” she says. “Mine are too, a little.” Their hands are hot together, a little damp, and it makes her breathe faster.

He ducks his head, smiling. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Why, are you nervous about something?” she asks.

“Impressing my gorgeous girlfriend,” he says, and kisses her palm. She shivers; his lips make her hand tingle, and she can feel his kiss even after he lifts his head. She closes her fingers around it, puts her hand in his.

“I’m impressed,” she says, her voice low, and he strokes his thumb over her knuckles, slowly.

 

 

The musical makes school so much crazier, with rehearsals almost every day, getting longer and longer as opening night approaches. She loves singing with Troy, but they have almost no time to be alone now that they’re so busy.

After the dress rehearsal, though, he borrows his mom’s car and takes her out for dinner, and they sit together in the backseat afterwards, curled up, their fingers laced together. She rubs her thumb against his fingernails, thumb to pinky and back again; they’re smooth and perfect, cut short and round. The pad of her thumb fits perfectly over the nail of his middle finger; she strokes over it and then down the inside, in a slow, dragging touch toward his palm. It feels like the sexiest thing she’s ever done, and Troy swallows, next to her, shifting against her side. She traces the lines of his palm, and he shudders and says, “Gabriella,” low in her ear.

“What?” she asks.

“We should go,” he says. “Big day tomorrow.”

She takes a breath, lets go of his hand. “You’re right,” she says. “It’s late.”

He’s concentrating hard on driving, on the way home, and she can’t help smiling a little to herself.

Up in her room, though, after he’s gone, she lies in bed and stares at the ceiling and shudders a little herself, thinking about his hands.

 

 

The night before the last day of school, he sneaks into her room and they have a little picnic on her bedroom floor, juice and crackers and cheese and chocolate. The chocolate is a little soft from the heat; she holds it through the wrapper, but he gets it all over his hands. She watches him licking it off in a sort of a frozen fascination: his tongue peeking out between his fingers, the side of his thumb all wet and shiny, his ring and pinky fingers sliding in and out of his mouth. Her mouth is open, she realizes, and she shuts it with a click.

After a thousand years or so, he finishes. He’s missed a spot. It feels like she’s in a dream when she reaches out, takes his damp hand. Brings it to her mouth. He makes a choked noise when she licks at the side of his finger, softly, tasting salt and chocolate and _Troy_. She wants to take the finger in her mouth, suck on it like he did, but she makes herself let go. His hand slips through hers, still wet.

“I,” he says, sounding strangled, “I have to go. But. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Last day,” she says. He scrambles out the window and down the tree.

Her fingers are damp with his spit. She looks at her hand, and finally she can’t help herself: she slips it under her skirt. _Oh God_. She can’t wait for summer.  



End file.
